That Sinking Feeling
by Jessica Kincaid
Summary: Set during the general events of late season 2. Greg and Tamara want to use Henry as leverage against Regina. When Hook, as their prisoner, refuses to do their dirty work, he suffers for it. Emma discovers them in a deserted barn and risks her safety to rescue him. Rated T for Hook's experience. Strongly Captain Swan. (For more, check out the sequel, "Roots.")
1. Part 1

**Author's note: **This episode is set during the general events of season 2. Greg and Tamara are furthering their plan to destroy Storybrooke. To that end, Tamara kidnapped Hook in New York and hopes to use him against Regina. Deviation from strictly canonical events in that Emma discovers Greg and Tamara's plan without Neal.

Hook shifted as the metal box stopped. Untold hours had passed as he sat tied to this wooden chair in the dark. The angry-looking lass found him in the storage closet in that crowded village. She didn't leave him free for long. He awoke later, in the blackness of the metal box, with a larger headache.

He worried about the effect it would have on his rugged good looks if people insisted on knocking him asunder. This had not proven to be a particularly hospitable land.

As his body continued to wake, he felt the tension coiled in his neck muscles. He rolled his head with care.

He winced. _A mistake._

The tension extended down through his shoulders blades. His fingers were numb and fat; his wrists chaffed. His ankles were pulled back, secured against the legs of the chair, and his knee caps throbbed from the torque. The gag knotted around his mouth pulled at the corner of his lips like a horse bit. Breathing was laborious. Shouting, impossible.

When he got his hands on the fools who did this . . .

Boots crunched on rocks outside. Two voices, male and female—probably the angry-looking lass. Someone threw the hatch open. The first thing he saw was night sky. Hook breathed deeply of the fresh air that washed over his face. He heard no sounds of the sea. Rather, the sounds of insects and birds.

The moment was ruined when the dour man with the bald head shone his torchlight into Hook's face.

In silence, Hook felt himself being appraised. At last, Bald Head said, "Well done, Tamara. I always wanted a pet pirate."

* * *

"The answer," Hook rasped, "is still no."

The slap connected with the right cheek, as he'd expected. He turned his head with it and let his neck hang. He didn't have the strength to hold himself upright. He panted as the other hand came and struck his left.

Hook actually groaned at that one. She'd hit a bruise.

"You _will _do this," Tamara shouted in his face. "Or we will kill you."

"Kidnap the lad yourselves. The queen will tell you what you want."

Tamara shook her head. "We can't risk anything being traced back to us. You're the scapegoat."

Hook lifted his head high enough to glare at her from under his lashes. "I," he breathed, "decline."

Tamara screamed in frustration and hit him so hard his head flew backwards. "You stupid pirate! One favor for us will earn you the ability to kill Rumplestilksin. Why can't you cooperate?"

Blood trickled from his nose. It tickled the hairs on his lip. He swayed in the chair as he tried to remain centered. "I observe few moral boundaries. Harming children is one of them. The answer is no."

Tamara clenched her teeth. To Bald Head—apparently his name was Greg, but Hook preferred his moniker—she held out her hand. "Give me the Taser."

Bald Head approached from his post at the front of the horse stall and handed her a small black box. Two thin blades adorned the front. Hook stiffened.

"I'm giving you one last chance." Tamara crouched in front of him. "We _will _get the boy. You don't have to die, but it's your choice." The black box began to hum. "Will you cooperate?"

Hook eyed the box. Whatever it did surely hurt.

He wore his best smile. "Sorry, love."

Tamara stabbed his neck with the blades. The black box hummed and sizzled before a pain like Hook had never felt crackled through his body. He trembled in the chair. Tamara pushed the blades further. Hook could not keep it in. He screamed.

* * *

"_Jogging" on the beach._

Yeah, right.

Emma parked her car in the barn driveway. It was deserted, with nothing but mounds of misshapen haystacks in the field giving testimony to the fact the farm had once been in operation. She stepped into the gravel without making noise. Her hands found her coat pockets and she shivered. It was a foggy, brisk October morning in Maine.

She really had come to like it here.

Uh, all things considered.

She approached the barn with measured steps. Every movement was deliberate. She drew towards a dusty window at eye level when an agonized scream shattered the morning peace. It was male, but beyond that she couldn't tell. Emma crouched. Her heart pounded.

Greg and Tamara. It had to be. But who was their prisoner? No one had gone missing.

She eased the gun out of her holster as she crept towards the door. The electricity had long been shut off from the barn, so the cracked light fixtures mounted on the walls posed no threat. The threshold of the barn was black with shadows. She snuck in.

Voices led her towards the rear. A man and a woman.

_Got you, Tamara._

The sound of skin on skin, followed by a moan. Again, male.

Emma rolled into an empty horse stall. She could see nothing over the partition, as the back of the barn was darker than even the front. She ducked down when she heard footsteps. They retreated towards the rear left, probably into the tack and feed rooms. She waited a moment to make sure they would not return.

When all remained quiet, she kept her gun raised by her ear as she bent low and scurried from stall to stall. She heard heavy breathing in the last stall. Pausing outside the stall door just to be safe, she pressed her ear against the wood. Was that crying?

Emma took a breath, said a prayer, and ducked inside.

She froze. "Hook!"

The pirate hung in his chair, arms behind his back, head drooping low. He lifted his gaze. "Swan," he rasped.

Emma shoved her gun into her holster and hurried to him. Her pocket knife bit through the cords binding his hands. "I thought you were in New York."

Bruises and blood besotted his face. A hot work light hung above his head, baking the sweat onto the back of his neck. He skin was pale and thin. He looked like he hadn't eaten in days.

"Did you enjoy sailing my ship?" Even starved and beaten, he sounded bitter.

"Not now."

The ropes snapped. Emma helped his arms come forward.

He closed his eyes. "Bloody lands. I've never been so happy to see you."

"It's over now."

After she freed his legs, she felt his head. Contusions. He swayed. Eyes unfocused. When his lids drooped shut, she crouched in front of him and pressed her fingertips against his temples. "Hook!"

Sea green eyes opened.

She found herself smiling. Her voice felt small when she said, "Just stay with me, okay?"

His lips parted and lifted. He hummed. "Forever and always, darling."

"We need to stand up. My car is in the driveway. Can you walk?"

"I have been tied to this chair for days. I doubt I can do much anything."

That was not good news.

Emma lifted him to his feet and dropped his arm around her shoulders. As soon as his weight left the chair, his legs collapsed under him. He fell, taking Emma with him. They landed in the old straw and dirt.

Hook cursed under his breath.

It was hard to see him like this.

"Try again." Emma was on her feet, pulling his arm.

"This is pointless." Hook wagged his head. "You have to go. They're after your lad."

"Henry? Why do they want Henry?"

"Something to do with Regina. I don't know the particulars. You have to go. You have to protect him." Hook groaned as Emma lifted him up under the arms like he was a child. His back rested against the stall, taking some of the weight. She used both hands to keep him standing.

"I'm the sheriff. I protect everybody. To the car."

* * *

Emma hauled his body out of the stall. He hated that she wouldn't leave. He also loved it.

They labored on. He stepped like a child, and when the weight hit his legs, his knees collapsed. Emma tightened her grip, took more of his weight, and he swung his other foot forward. Then the process repeated.

They made it no further than the aisle. Bald Head and Tamara discovered them, the lass holding a pistol.

Emma stiffened. To stand upright, Hook leaned on her shoulders as if she were a crutch. He saw few good endings to this situation. Emma had a pistol of her own, but encumbered by supporting him, she wouldn't draw swiftly enough. He couldn't run—let alone stand—and she wouldn't leave him. Even if she would, they wouldn't let her leave. They were both liabilities.

Hook's stomach churned.

"Why I am not surprised?" Tamara was saying. "You just can't leave things alone."

"Did you enjoy your jog at the beach?"

Hook squeezed Emma's shoulder. "Leave me," he hissed. It was worth a try. If she left him, right now, she might fight her way out. He could fall onto Tamara. Give Emma a head start.

But no, she ignored him.

"What's going on, Tamara? What do you want with Hook?"

Tamara shrugged. "Nothing personal. We need Henry."

Emma frowned. "Why?"

"Greg has business with Regina. That's all you need to know." Tamara shifted her grip on the gun. "What are we going to do about her?"

Greg shook his head. "Two people can't know about us. Shoot her."

Hook's heart pounded. He couldn't protect her. He couldn't do a bloody thing to protect her. His ribs ached from the beatings with the stick. His legs began to shake with the effort of standing and his knees sagged.

"That's a great idea," Tamara rolled her eyes. "Because no one would miss the sheriff." She smirked. "Or do you prefer 'savior'?"

"Whatever floats your boat. Does Neal know about you?"

Tamara just laughed.

Now Hook's head throbbed. His vision was swaying but he couldn't, _just couldn't_, leave Emma alone. He squeezed her shoulder for focus and found his voice somewhere at his feet. "The lass is right. Harming the sheriff will only bring you greater trials. Let her go."

The look Tamara gave him was lazy and her lip curled. "Thank you for your opinion, pirate."

"Just shoot her!" Greg said. "We don't have time to deal with both of them."

Hook tried to shift in front of her, but Tamara's answer stopped him cold.

"No," she said, an idea playing out in her tone that made him nervous. "This is just what we need. The captain won't cooperate. Perhaps Emma will."

"So then we shoot him and keep her."

Tamara shook her head. "Secure them. We're going on a little trip."

**Author's note: **Part 2 is halfway finished. Hoping to post shortly.


	2. Part 2

Emma shifted on the floor of the rental van. A small crack near the bottom of the rolling door let in enough light to identify the body-shaped lump beside her.

_Hook_.

She tried to sit him upright, but her wrists were tied in front of her.

The van hit a bump and she went flying. Hook knocked into her as they came down. His head landed in her lap.

"Take it easy!" Her fingers felt around his head. "You've got a concussion or two. You need to sit upright."

In response, Hook only snuggled closer. His head rested against her stomach and he pulled her bound arms around him with his own bound hands. She eased her legs around him, resting her feet on the back of his calves. He rested his cheek against her forearm and hummed.

"Actually, love, I'm right where I want to be. At last."

Emma leaned forward, folding herself over him as her forehead rested against his shoulder. "How long?"

"Five days? I'm not certain."

She was so close, she heard his stomach gurgle. His fingers squeezed hers.

"I had a granola bar in my car," she muttered. She breathed in his smell of sea and leather and spice. "Injuries?"

"Wounded pride, mostly."

Emma rolled her eyes. "You've got a concussion, minimum." She poked him in the ribs, and when he howled, she _humped_. "And some broken rips. What did she do to you, anyways? Hit you with a golf club?"

"How am I supposed to know what you call it? It was a club. It could have been of 'golf,' I suppose."

Emma stared at him.

Hook sighed and squeezed her hand again. "I'll be all right."

"What else did she do?" she whispered.

"We don't need to go into all that. We ought to discuss our escape plan." A smile lit his face. "Reach your hand up my sleeve, love."

He'd never seen someone frown and roll their eyes simultaneously, but she managed it. "Now is _not _the time, you stupid pirate—"

"To fetch my knife, nothing more. Lands, you have a suspicion mind, Emma."

The smirk on his face was incorrigible, but she did it. She reached her hand up his good arm and felt along the interior of the sleeve.

"Having fun yet, darling?" he murmured.

Emma felt the handle of a small knife fastened to the fabric at his bicep. She started to free his hands, but he stopped her.

"Save it. We can't get far like this."

A good point, actually. It would hide in her back pocket for the time being.

Emma settled against the box she was propped against and let Hook sink deeper against her. She brushed his face again, fingering the contusions. When she looked down, Hook had his eyes shut.

"Tell me one thing," she said, s.o quietly the noise of the van tires almost drowned her out.

Hook's head shifted to the side in response. She could see a little sea green from his eyes in the dark.

"It must have hurt," she said. Hook pressed his eyes shut. "Five days is a long time. Why did you still refuse?"

"I don't hurt children, Swan," his voice was just as quiet. "Particularly when it's your son."

Emma kissed his forehead. "I'll get you out of this."

"Counting on it." Hook leaned his head to the side and shut his eyes, preparing for sleep. He hugged her arms to himself. "I grow wearying of saving you all the time."

Emma smacked him on the shoulder. He whimpered, and she rolled her eyes. "Not. Falling for it."

"Whatever you say, love," was the last thing on his lips as he drifted to sleep.

* * *

Greg and Tamara took them to the docks. They boarded the _Roger. _Hook was persuaded to steer the ship out of the harbor, although his wrists were not freed. The persuasion involved Emma and a knife to her throat.

It took a short while for the shoreline to fall away. When there was nothing around them save open water, Tamara ordered Hook to stop. Greg dropped the anchor.

"What are we doing out here?" Hook said, although he feared he already knew.

Tamara smiled like a shark. "Let's enjoy the view."

Emma's hands were freed. Tamara twisted one arm behind her back and kept the blade against Emma's throat. "After you, Captain."

Hook's scowl pressed into his face. He'd never felt so helpless on his own ship.

Greg met him at the bottom of the stairs. He grabbed his good arm and hauled him to the rail. Hook saw the pile of chain. He closed his eyes.

Sailors should make peace with drowning. It was an occupational hazard. At an earlier time, Hook would have been ready. Grateful, even. Not anymore.

Emma didn't understand. Tamara dragged her to the mast and handcuffed her to the stout rigging wrapped about it. Then their captors stood there, smiling, waiting for her to figure it out. Hook eyed the water.

"What are we doing out here?" Emma said. "What do you want?"

Tamara explained, "We want information from Regina concerning Greg's father."

"I don't know anything about that."

"It was before your time. He went missing in Storybrooke when Greg was a child. Regina was involved."

Emma glanced at Greg. "I'm sorry."

"We hoped Henry could encourage Regina to tell us the truth." Tamara rested a hand on Hook's shoulder. He flinched before he could stop himself. She smiled. "There was some resistance to that plan, wasn't there, Captain?"

The muscles along Hook's jaw shifted and bulged.

"But I'm flexible," Tamara tossed her hair. "You can help us, Emma. There's no need to drag Henry into unpleasant business. He is Neal's son, after all. That practically makes him my step-son."

"Every boy's dream," Hook muttered. "Three obsessive mothers."

Tamara punched him in the broken ribs. He groaned.

"This is important to Greg, so please, do cooperate."

"I can't help you. I wasn't even in Storybrooke when his father disappeared."

Greg spoke for the first time. "We just need leverage against Regina. And if there's one person in Storybrooke that has information like that, it's you."

From the look in her eyes, Emma was starting to piece it together, but she hadn't reached the bottom line yet. Hook hurt for her. If he could spare her the pain of what was coming, he would.

Wouldn't mind sparing himself the coming pain, either.

"I'm not her biggest fan," Emma said, "but she is important to Henry. I won't help you hurt her. Besides, you'd need more than my word. You'd need proof."

Greg approached her. He slipped his hand into her back jeans pocket, despite her protests, and he smiled. Hook moved after him, but Tamara's knife stopped him.

Emma's smart phone found Greg's hand. He pushed it into her face. "Our sources say you keep extensive notes on your investigations in here. Why don't you unlock it for us? We just need a little information."

"I'm not helping you hurt Regina."

"All right. How do you feel about hurting the good captain?"

On Greg's cue, Tamara locked the chain manacle around Hook's ankle. He didn't want to panic, but he couldn't stop it. His heart hammered and his pulse spiked. He looked at the shifting water. Depths of blue. Depths of blue that could swallow a sailor whole.

_No. _

"What are you doing?" Emma demanded.

Iron balls clinked together at the end as Tamara tugged on the chain, checking its hold. Satisfied, she dropped a rope lasso around his chest and jerked it closed. It pinched his ribs and he hissed.

"Last chance." Greg still held the phone in her face.

Emma was staring at Hook. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

Tamara shoved Hook in the chest. He fell over the rail. The ocean slurped the weighted chain off the deck like a piece of spaghetti. Greg hauled Emma to the side and pressed her against the rail just in time to see the waters close over Hook's head.

"No!" she shouted.

"Tell us the password."

"You can't do this!"

Tamara squeezed her arms until it hurt. "How much are you willing to loose for Regina?"

"Don't do this. I'll help you find his father."

Tamara nodded. Greg raised Hook with the rope. He broke the water, coughing. Greg hauled him over the rail and threw him to the ground.

Emma moved towards him, but Tamara held her in place. "We don't have time to worry about trusting you," she hissed. "Just tell us the password."

"I can't."

Greg grabbed Hook by the collar. The pirate groaned.

"Please—" Emma reached for them.

Greg threw Hook over the side. The chain plunged again, taking Hook back under with it.

* * *

With a snarl, Emma swung at Tamara. The woman stepped back in time to dodge the first one, but she didn't expect a second so soon. Tamara was on her back and Emma leapt at Greg. She'd gotten a shot and a half in before the bark of a handgun preceded a flare of pain across Emma's calf. She dropped to the deck.

"Do you think we are fooling around?" Tamara shouted.

Greg hauled Hook back up. He hit the deck in a sputtering, leather soaked heap. He looked up as Tamara approached with a thick staff that had lain against the rail.

A bitter smile poisoned his face. "Come back to play again, have we?"

Emma pushed herself to a sitting position. "Don't—"

Tamara raised the club above her head and slammed it against Hook's chest. He cried out, trembling from the impact. She lifted it again and swung harder. Emma heard the _crack _of snapping bones.

"Stop it!"

Greg seized him by the shoulders. Hook moaned as his body jostled.

"How much more do you think he can take, Miss Swan?" Tamara shouted. "Shall we go for another swim? Do you know what it's like to hold your breath with four broken ribs?"

There were tears slipping from her eyes. Tears of fury. She was seething. "_I can't help you._"

"Then you just killed the captain."

Emma struggled to her feet. Tamara crossed to her and cracked her once in the ribs for good measure.

"Look at the captain, Emma."

Emma shook her head. Her eyes were pressed closed.

Tamara hit her again. "Look at him!"

"Swan," Hook rasped.

Emma's heart broke as she opened her eyes. He was sagging in Greg's hold, bleeding and broken. Water dripped from his hair down his face and along the cuffs of his clothes.

"It's all right."

Greg threw him over the side as Emma cried. He jerked the rope before she heard a splash. Hook dangled over the side. The weights dropped against his ankles, and he cried out as his ribs stretched.

"Just kill me."

Tamara pulled Emma to her feet. She slammed her against the rail, grabbed a fistful of hair, and pushed her head out. "Take a good look, Miss Swan," she hissed in Emma's ear. "This is the last time you'll see Captain Hook alive. Do you like what you see?"

Emma cried. Hook looked up at her. His face was still tight from the pain in his ribs.

Greg let the rope go. As she reached for him, he closed his eyes and plunged beneath the water. Tamara forced Emma to stay there, watching the water as it congealed back over the hole.

"Do you think we'll see bubbles in water this deep?" she said.

Regina had tried to kill her parents untold times. She terrorized the citizens, hurt people in her way. She lied, she cheated, she stole. She stabbed people in the heart—heck, she _ripped _their hearts. She tried to keep Henry away.

She killed Graham. And how many others.

Why did Emma have to loose Hook for her, too? She didn't kidnap Greg's father. She hadn't brought this on herself. And when they were done with Hook, what would they do to Henry? Or Mary Margaret and David?

"Okay!" Emma snapped. "I'll do it. Pull him up."

Greg handed her the phone. "Unlock it first."

"_No_. Pull him up first."

Her tone gave them pause, then Tamara nodded and Greg pulled the rope back, hand over hand.

_Slow. Too slow._

Then there was splashing. And gasping. Hook's head broke the water as his arms—still bound in front, they were—climbing for air. Emma gripped her phone until the plastic squeaked. Greg pulled him aboard, held him on his feet.

Hook shook the water from his face. Gulping breaths and soggy coughs. He blinked at her, droplets spraying off his lashes. "Don't."

"You don't need to die for her mistakes."

"Touching," Tamara said, with about as much warmth of a cobra. "Now unlock it."

Emma put in her phone's password. As they busied themselves flipping through her files, she slipped an arm around Hook's waist to help him stand. She turned his face, looking at the cuts.

"At least they're sanitized," she muttered.

"Bloody saltwater burns like rum."

She smiled and tapped his nose. "Should be used to it, pirate."

"This will work." Tamara announced to nobody in particular.

"Fascinating." Hook's accent was thicker with his increased respiration, not to mention his anger. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to return my ship to dock."

"Sorry. We don't like loose ends." Greg pulled Emma away, shoving her to Tamara. The woman had her knife to Emma's throat in a flash.

"No!" Emma thrashed. "I gave you what you wanted."

"We want," Tamara said, "to destroy magic. And everyone it brought with it."

Greg loomed in front of Hook. "That includes you, Captain."

"If you kill him, I will throw your remains in jail and see that you are prosecuted to the—"

Tamara interrupted her. "You won't remember him. We have some little trinkets to see to that."

Emma's eyes grew wide. "You can't do that."

"Actually, we can."

Hook growled. He stalked towards Greg. "Let her go immediately or I'll—"

"Bon voyage, Hook." Greg shoved him overboard. He severed the rope and the weighted chain disappeared with another splash. Emma screamed.

**Author's note: **Apparently there will be _three _sections. Whoops. Working on the third.


	3. Part 3

Hook sunk. Further than ever before. The bottom of his ship blurred as the depth increased. He held his breath—why, he didn't know—and his throat cinched tighter as the time passed. At last he hit the bottom of the bay. His body floated above its tethered point. The salt still stung his cuts.

His ribs ached. He just wanted to cough. Just once, to stretch them. With eyes shut tight, he pictured clear skies and full sails. He was happy, with a ship to his name and a good crew. The love of a good woman . . .

Oh. Bad place to go.

Images of Milah played across his mind. The fun times, at first. But then she was dead, cold on his deck, and his promise to avenge her echoed around him on the sandy bay floor.

He lungs burned. When he opened his eyes, he tried to blink the saltwater away. He couldn't hold back anymore—he coughed. Water pooled into his mouth the moment his lips parted and slid down his throat. Instinct mandated him to cough again, so he did, and more water followed. The cycle had begun, and Hook fought against the panic as he filled.

It would be over soon. His pulse throbbed in his ears and his heart hammered in his chest, but soon, it would be still.

_Please_, he breathed, _just let her be all right. _

Milah hurt to remember, so he remembered Swan. The beanstalk. Storybrooke. Getting hit by that blasted car. The smile he alone coaxed from her.

He stared up through the depths, fixing on the bottom of his ship. As if staring could tell him what happened to Emma. Black spots speckled his vision. He swallowed another mouthful of water.

And then, he saw something. An illusion, surely. A cruel trick of the mind.

The cruel trick of the mind swam until it was in front of him. Reached out hands. Tugged under Hook's arms.

_Emma_.

She grunted and kicked her feet harder.

What was she doing here?

Frowning, Emma snapped her fingers in front of his face. Tried to, at least. She grunted. She wanted him to swim with her.

Hook didn't understand how, but now was not the time to quibble. He gathered the weights against his body, wincing. She took some of them. Together they kicked and clawed to the surface.

They breached. Hook did his best to float. Emma grappled with the rope lapping against the ship side. She dropped the loop around his waist, cinched it shut, and climbed up the side like she was climbing a mountain. Hook dropped back under the water, cut short after several feet by the rope.

When nothing happened, the panic returned.

_She'll be here. Give it time._

The rope tightened. He inched upwards. When his body left the water, the weights dragged behind. His ribs hurt again, but this time, he didn't care. To distract from the broken bones, he looked out over the water.

The horizon had never looked so blue.

He was halfway up when the rope suddenly dropped. He free fell back to the water. The weights pulled on his ankles, and when he hit the surface, he heard another _crack _from his ribs.

And then he blacked out.

* * *

Hand over hand, Emma hauled the rope. It felt like an eternity after she'd reached the deck, to thread the rope lead through as many rigging pulleys as she could find.

An eternity, but necessary. There was no way she could lift a two-hundred pound pirate in wet leather and metal weights without some help from physics.

Even then, it was hard. Her hands were wet, as was the rope, which made it a slippery, prickly experience.

At the halfway mark, it proved too much. The rope slid through her palms. She didn't let go, so it burned all the way. But she couldn't stop it. She heard the splash.

_Not again._

With a hard face, Emma grabbed that stupid rope and pulled with everything she had. She walked backwards and wrapped it around the mast, using it as another pulley. This sucker was coming up, and he was coming up _now._

Water broke and a body slid past it. That much she heard. She did _not _heard coughing or breathing. Not good.

Emma hung her head back and huffed as loudly as she wanted to. She leaned so far back on the rope that she was nearly parallel to the deck.

Hook's body rose into sight. She tied the rope off around the mast.

He didn't move as she hauled him aboard. His eyes were shut.

"Absolutely not."

She severed the rope around his chest. She couldn't do anything about the chains. She didn't even take time to free his hands.

The deck would be hard on his broken bones, but she had to resuscitate him. She stretched him out, pumped his chest. Something cracked and she forced herself to keep going.

At the appropriate time, Emma ceased chest compressions. She opened his mouth and blew oxygen into his lungs.

* * *

Hook's eyes opened. Emma was above him, giving him breath. Now this was a feeling worth remembering.

He lurched upright. Saltwater spewed out of him, into her face.

"Hey!" Emma pulled out of the fire line.

When he could breathe, Hook dropped his head to the deck. He tried to hold onto the memory. "Promise me one thing, Swan," he said, searching for her fingers with his secured hands.

"What?"

Hook smiled his best version of _devil-may-care_. "Promise me I can wake up to that every morning."

"Not on your life."

He closed his eyes. "I feel weak. Resuscitate me."

"Get up and steer your dang boat back to Storybrooke."

* * *

The doctor entered the waiting room. Emma stood.

"He'll be fine," she answered Emma's question before it had left her mouth. "The nurses are nearly finished."

When Emma asked how he behaved, the doctor's answer made her laugh.

"Dreadful. But I've had more ill-tempered patients."

"Thank you for putting up with him."

The doctor glanced at her clipboard. "How are _you _doing, young lady? The nurse tells me you're sporting a bruised spot yourself."

Emma lifted her shirt high enough to let the doctor inspect the bandage on the lower half of her trunk. "Just sore when I laugh. I'll be fine. It's him I was worried about."

The doctor handed her a folder of paperwork to take home. "Six broken ribs, two concussions, moderate neurological damage, facial abrasions, one black eye, two puncture marks along the neck, and deep bruises all over his main body cavity. I can't understand your concern, my dear."

Again, Emma smiled.

"He's tough. We fixed up his ribs and bandaged just about anything else we could find. He needs a place to recuperate though, and I'm concerned when he said he has no permanent housing."

"He recently arrived. I'm sure he will look soon."

The doctor nodded. "Be that as it may, if he can't identify his place of lodging, I'm assigning him a spot in our public care facility."

"Uh," Emma shifted. "That's not a good idea. He has enemies here."

"Are you willing to assume responsibility?"

After everything he'd endured for Henry, she'd assume responsibility for every crime, misdemeanor, difficulty, and social faux pas he committed from this point onward.

She was not planning on actually sharing that piece of information out loud.

"Yes," she said. "I will take him."

* * *

"Here we are," Emma sang out as she pushed Hook's chair with wheels through her front entrance. When she was distracted with putting her things away, Hook wheeled the chair away from her protective grasp and explored the rooms.

"So," he mused, after finding his way to the entrance of her personal quarters, "to gain passage into your quarters, a man merely needs to be kidnapped, starved, beaten, and drowned."

She grasped the rear handles and spun him away from the room. "_Your _'quarters' are over here, my friend."

They entered a small bedroom, single bed, cream comforter, and tan walls. Entirely unsuitable for the amount of time he planned to spend with her.

Hook pouted. "I don't wish to be locked away all alone."

Emma folded her arms. He scrunched his eyebrows and widened his eyes and pursed his lips further.

"I am not falling for it."

But oh, yes she was, if that adorable little quiver in her voice was any indication.

Hook pointed over his shoulder at the main area. "Perhaps I might sleep on yon . . . soofu, or whatever the bloody thing is called."

"_Sofa_."

"Sofa," he repeated.

"It won't be comfortable enough. I want you to sleep well."

"If that's what you're worried about, love," he murmured, "I've the cure for that."

"I take you in out of the goodness of my heart . . ."

Hook's stomach interrupted her when it gnarled his insides. He grimaced. Emma wheeled him to the kitchen, where she deposited him in a chair before creating a large glass of a frothy white substance.

"What is it?" Hook frowned.

"A nutrient shake. The doctors said you can't handle real food until we help your body recover and rehydrate."

"Bloody doctors," Hook muttered. He gave the shake a dubious groan before he threw it back.

Emma had surprised Tamara and Greg with a furry-fueled attack. What he would give to have witnessed it. She rendered them unconscious and locked them in his ship. Apparently the authorities arrived at his ship only moments after they departed for the large infirmary, but even then, it was too late. They had escaped. Hook didn't care. Emma had been with him at the infirmary-minus one trip that lasted about twenty minutes-and now she was here. Making him vile drinks.

Beautiful.

The "shake" slid down his throat, eliciting a grimace. "I prefer rum," he croaked.

"Yeah, well, none of _that _for a while, either." Emma slid her hand inside his jacket. She grasped his flask and tried to pull it out before he could stop her.

Hook caught her wrist in the crook of his namesake. A smile tugged the corners of his mouth. He trapped her with his eyes. "Are we playing games, Swan?"

Emma dropped her gaze to his hook. She cleared her throat. "Happy with the replacement?"

Apparently, while he lay at the mercy of strangers with plastic hands and white faces, Emma had persuaded the queen to conjure a replacement hook in the stead of the one taken by Tamara and Greg.

"Quite. Although that's nothing compared with how I feel about the nursing staff." He kissed her hand.

Emma sat in the chair. He smiled when his fingertips under her wrist felt her pulse beat against them.

"I feel like I owe you," she said softly. "I appreciate what you did for Henry."

"I know how you can repay me." His wiggled his eyebrows.

She gave him a warning look. "_What_."

He stopped clowning. He kissed her hand and whispered, "Just sit me. I am tired."

Emma helped him to his feet. They took hesitant steps towards the couch. After lighting the fireplace, Emma sat down with her legs stretched along the length of the cushions. She helped Hook lower himself. He rested against her, his head tucking nicely beneath her chin. She unfurled a blanket, it mushroomed around them, settling lightly over their legs.

Her arms were warm as they slipped under his and pressed with care against his waist.

Hook let his head fall deeply against her, savoring the warmth and soft firmness all at once. "Are you all right? Tamara took a crack at you, as well."

Emma shushed him. Her fingers worked through his hair and massaged his scalp. Hook closed his eyes.

This must be the feeling of home.

"I'm all right." She kissed the top of his head. "Sleep well."

And that night, he did.

**Author's note: **Thanks for reading! I'm working on a sequel entitled "Roots," which takes place a few days after these events. Hook is hurting on the anniversary of Liam's death. In her efforts to help him heal, Emma arranges a "family" camping trip. Is one camp site big enough for Captain Swan, Neal, Henry, and Snowing? Probably not.


End file.
